Showcase: Ouch! + A Glimmer Of Hope

Edited by Vrushali Khadilkar

Welcome to my second Showcase!

I’ve been going for early morning runs to catch the sunrise before the tar roads start melting and temperatures reach 43°C in India. My friends have been borrowing my sunscreen while coming back home: “Skin-care-aholic,” they call me! As girls we have each other’s back, don’t we?

Aligning with the theme, this week’s Showcase gathers stories of borrowed strength, of patience, courage and hope, above all. Read on!

As a runner learning to pause, G J Rowlatt navigates a phase where time and patience feel borrowed.

Ouch!

Injuries, always lurking in the shadows, waiting for that moment you over-train — but there’s still room to stay positive.

POP… So, that pop. That was my hamstring. My muscle or ligament snapping? Pulling? Whatever it was, the sound indicated a complete stop and a short walk back home.

‘OK, let’s call these three weeks out. Don’t try to stretch it. Don’t roll it or sit on a baseball or tennis ball pretending I know what I’m doing. Once there’s no pain when walking, I’ll run, but nice and easy. Let’s check online what I can and can’t do. Let’s reschedule my running plans so I can see them laid out. This feels positive. In the meantime, the rest will help my body. I’ll be stronger for it!’

Yes. This internal conversation really happened. But don’t pat me on the back just yet. It took me 22 years to reach that positivity. That’s a lot of years being negative!

The Runner’s Nightmare

All runners have been here. The moment when you’re running under a blue sky, a back road through farm fields, distant houses and the odd vehicle. You’re at that point in training where every stride feels seamless and your heart rate is comfortably dipping into your threshold. Everything is perfect – until it isn’t.

It starts as a sudden twinge. Self-doubt quickly creeps in. ‘Should I stop and rub it? But I’m running so well; it will ruin my Strava stats! OK, how about I carry on, pray it vanishes?’ Carry on is the decision. But it doesn’t recede. In fact, it’s getting progressively worse, to the point where you must stop.

You rub the area, take a deep breath, and walk it off. The walk becomes a limp. The pain, although not as sharp, is there; a dull ache that feels like your hamstring will snap as soon as you run on it. There’s no support crew, no easy way out. You must limp it home, kicking yourself for not taking your phone.

The Walk Back

Luckily, that’s manageable, but mentally it’s another story. The mind becomes flooded with ifs, buts and maybes. If only I’d stopped straight away… But it should be OK tomorrow, right? Maybe this just needs a few days’ rest.

Suddenly, those questions transform into a rush of depression. Having run for so long, you get to know almost every kind of injury, usually because you’ve had every kind of injury. I have two reference books: one filled with a vast array of failure excuses, readily available before and after a race – and the other, covering leg injuries.

I flip to the hamstring section: Grade one, one week. Grade two, one week to a month. Grade three.

Hello… Grade three? Are you there?

No, it’s not there. I’ve deleted that. No one wants to contemplate months off running at a time like this. The rest of the way home is a full-on gloom and doom, sprinkled with hope and a constant debate with myself.

Home… And A Date With The Freezer

Funny how, as a runner with the latest injury, I’m so proficient at coordinating recovery. My inner monologue clears out all distractions and zeroes in on a series of steps. The first one? The freezer. It’s like a treasure trove of recovery tools: ice packs, frozen peas, even that half-eaten lasagne that’s been lurking at the back. I grab the ice pack; it’s been patiently waiting there for me.

Stepping around the dog, who’s eyeing me suspiciously as if he suspects something is up, I can’t help but feel guilty. He knows I’ve bypassed the fridge, where a chocolate milkshake is practically begging to be drunk. No time to explain to the dog that we have a code red situation as I make my way to my running cupboard.

I feel almost guilty as I look inside and realise that, if a non-runner peeked in here, it would probably put them off for life. Enough massage creams, cold gels, cold sprays, deep heat, tiger balm – you name it, it’s all crammed in there. Each item a result of my overreaction and impulse buying during various injuries.

I finally find what I want, a compression sleeve. I put it straight on and slide an ice pack right inside, pressing it against my skin. The one thing you’re not supposed to do, but my head is telling me that the colder it gets, the better it’ll feel.

With my makeshift ice sleeve in place, I’m ready for the third and final act: the sofa. It’s the stage for my last act of self-recovery. Truth be told, all I really want to do is lie on it and drift off to sleep. But instead, I find myself lying with my back on the floor, feet awkwardly elevated on the cushions, ice pack firmly in place.

Can We Really Be Positive At A Time Like This?

Especially as I’m lying  here, knowing that the strength work everyone tells you to do has never progressed beyond two days of squats while I brushed my teeth. And that stretching program? It’s been sitting unopened since I downloaded it after the last injury – collecting digital dust.

‘But yes,’ I remind myself. ‘Don’t just lie there hoping for the best, it’s time for a reality check. Leg, you walked back. You supported all my weight when it mattered. Grade one, maybe edging toward grade two, let’s not get ahead of ourselves. It’s time to book that physio appointment for Monday morning.’

I take a deep breath, feeling a flicker of determination. I need to swap my training sessions for recovery sessions. It’s a shift in mindset, but one that’s necessary. The day brightens, the clouds of gloom shift as I search online sports shoe stores.

New shoes, a fresh start, a little motivation for my comeback.

© G J Rowlatt, 2026

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Nai Roshni’s story follows the journey where courage itself feels borrowed at first, as the character seeks stories of people who escaped from dark places, until courage becomes her own.

A Glimmer Of Hope

My name is Khushi which, translated into my mother tongue (Hindi), simply means ‘happiness.’ I’m a British-born Indian, the first child to immigrant parents. My birth brought them tremendous joy. I’m guessing that’s the reason for my name? Khushi by name, Khushi by nature…  so I’ve often wondered why this isn’t actually the case?

As the bright morning sun attempts to pierce through the curtains into my dark room, I squint and tug to pull them shut. Wishing I could hibernate, like a small furry animal, and wake up when the atmosphere is better.

Having grown up in an industrial area of London,  my father worked hard at a car motor plant, labouring away in the manufacturing industry. My mother was a skilled seamstress who made beautiful, pretty dresses. They led simple lives and showed me that happiness could exist with little or nothing, and that love and togetherness was the essence of their strength.

As a child, I watched them successfully build the foundation for the life I have today. I’m sincerely grateful, but why do I feel a void that hasn’t yet been filled?

Once, I aspired and dreamed. I loved to write; it was my favourite hobby! Filling reams of blank paper with my imagination and letting my thoughts come alive. I was creative, colourful and lively. I had wanted to become a journalist or a writer.

But many years later, I’m here in this dark, dismal bedroom, carrying the weight of the invisible battles in my mind, grappling with shadows of anxiety and sadness. What happened to the person I once was?

The technology of today constantly presents the lives of people all around the world: picture-perfect Barbie dolls appearing on the Instagram reels, one after the other, with their picture-perfect bodies, in their picture-perfect lives. Why isn’t my life perfect? Is there really true happiness behind those faces I see?

I crawl out of bed, reluctantly get dressed, feeling the heavy weight of nothingness on my shoulders. I go for a morning walk, the sky is bright, and the air fresh and crisp. The cold air hits my rosy cheeks as I make my way towards the park.

Childhood memories flood back of carefree and fun times; there is a smile on my face and warmth in my heart.

I walk past the ancient library;  my favourite place as a child. With most things being digital these days, do people really still use a library? My curiosity gets the better of me, and I walk in. The quietness is serene and blissful, a stark contrast to the outside world. The aroma of freshly ground coffee fills my nostrils.

As I walk through the aisles, engrossed by the titles on the spines of the books, something catches my eye: a book sticks out among the neat rows. I open it and begin to read. Its pages tell stories of resilience and triumph over adversity and hooks me like a fish in a river. Intrigued, I delve into the stories of individuals who have faced similar mental health challenges and emerged stronger and better.

I am inspired. From this day on, I decide to begin a journey to reclaim my life. I join a community support group, bound by compassion and understanding, where kindred spirits gather to share their stories. Among them is a wise elder, Wayne, who becomes my mentor, guiding me through my vast maze of emotions. His wise words of wisdom give me a boost and I follow his guidance.

Our group explores coping mechanisms and mindfulness practices that gradually become the lanterns guiding me out of the darkness. Embracing each struggle is like stepping on stones towards strength. I begin to discover courage I never knew I had. With each step, I grow more resilient, pushing through nettles and weeds like a vibrant flower.

With the support of well-wishers, people wanting me to win, I steadily begin to regain my confidence and believe in me. For the first time, looking in the mirror, I feel the person looking back at me has value and something to offer the world.

I join a storytelling group with like-minded people, my pillars of support. We have story-time sessions for kids in the community and together, we’ve created a safe space for children and their parents to come and unwind and listen to magical tales. It’s been rewarding to see young faces beaming with interest and curiosity.

As this new journey begins to unfold, people around me notice the transformation. Friends and neighbours who had been aware of my silent struggles, are inspired by my newfound strength.

Having been cooped up in a cocoon for what felt like an eternity, I am ready to emerge as a beautiful butterfly, spreading my wings and exploring the wonderful opportunities the world has to offer. I’ve discovered the world is not perfect, and that we don’t have to be perfect – we just have to give it our best and play our part. Together, we can make life and Earth a wonderful place to be.

My story is a testament to the strength residing within us, waiting to be unearthed in even the darkest of times. My journey has helped to transform my life and a spark of hope has ignited, proving that, from the depths of despair, one can rise, strong and triumphant.

At the library, I recently came across a magazine and noticed an advert for a short story writing competition. I decided life is too short and that it’s never too late to reignite your passions. A voice in my heart said: ‘Go on, you can do it, never give up!’

© Nai Roshni, 2026

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Gloria’s Artwork

We’re wrapping up with artwork! I interpret it as how the trees borrow light from the sun. Standing tall and with grace, they remind us that even life itself is a circulation of borrowed air.

© Gloria Maloney, 2026

I’ll see you in next week’s Showcase!

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